Bloodlust
by child-dragon
Summary: The fury of a shaman is something to be feared. Nothing to this story but combat.


The combatants hardly knew that was what they were until the first blow was struck. It was an instantaneous response; the human and the tauren, their nerves stretched raw by the constant turmoil of the land around them. Warraven could feel it in her heart, the anguished cries of the spirits in a land torn asunder by demons. And the human… although he lacked the arcane sense of his people, being a man of sword and shield, the very scenery of Hellfire upset him. And so when the man crested the ridge and the tauren turned to face the noise, battle fell upon them.

Warraven led in with her maces, the familiar kick song of blood lust swelling in her heart. She fell upon the human like a swarm of ravens, the spirits of the earth around her crying out for release, and the maces in her hands fell like the thunder from the torn sky. Her first blow was a lead-in to the head and the second was directed to the knee, aiming to crush the bone of both skull and leg.

The warrior let the tauren charge, bracing himself for the impact. He dropped his center of gravity to redirect the impact of the larger creature through his legs and into the ground and as she charged, his shield caught the mace on the tip, the jar of it sending a sharp jab of pain all the way up to his elbow. Then he dropped his stance lower, barely moving his shield at all, and the second mace was caught on the lower tip of the shield. The impact traveled to his shoulder this time.

His return blow was for her exposed arms. His wrist snapped out, the sword like a whip in his hands, and it flicked along the tauren's fur and back into guard in less than a second. Blood slid down the tip.

Warraven cried out, the pain registering for only a moment. She struck again, raining down blows that slammed again and again on his shield. And the warrior stood his ground, feet dug into the ground, withstanding the assault like a tree weathering the storm. But Warraven dropped back a step, hearing the whisperings of the spirits around her, filling her fur stand on end as they imbued her with their power. And she called upon the earth and implored its aid. Then she cast the spell.

The warrior felt something erupt through his body, some nameless force. He tasted the resin from trees, heard the trickle of dirt in his ears. And the awesome power of the earth itself entwined his ankles, and then exploded upwards into his internal workings, tearing and destroying where it went. He coughed up a goblet of blood and saliva, then the tauren was on him again, leading with her mace for the forearm.

The spirits of the wind surrounded her and she felt her mace connect against his shoulder, heard the satisfying crunch of steel giving way to steel and the bones underneath breaking. He did not drop his sword, for his credit, but took advantage of her outreached lunge to slip it in where her armor stopped at the armpit, aimed inward to the body. It stopped her, the sudden sickening swell of pain halting her assault and for a moment the two were locked there.

The tauren with her mace on his ruined shoulder, watching the blood ooze out from under the shattered plate. The human, his sword poised, his shield high to protect his head, and the blade embedded just under the tauren's arm, aimed inward towards the vitals. For one brief, pained, moment the two saw each other and wondered what the other was fighting for.

Gunshots shattered the sudden stillness. Warraven jerked back with a grunt, the sword sliding free with a fresh sheath of crimson all along the metal. The warrior staggered back as well, staring down at the two holes near the collarbone of his armor. His sword arm hung useless at his side. Then a great tiger struck him from the side, sending him flying to the ground, and fangs closed on the throat, tore, and the earth drank in his blood.

"I leave you alone for five minutes," the orc said, pulling himself the rest of the way up onto the crest of the hill, "and look what happens."

The great cat got a better grip on the corpse and shook it by the neck, knocking the helm off and sending it rolling away. It stretched its claws and bit deeper into the already opened throat.

"Stop playing with your food," Molinu chided to his pet and the tiger only growled in response.

Warraven was breathing slowly, letting the song of bloodlust fade in her ears, waiting for her heart to resume its steady pace. She'd have to sit and heal her injuries. But for now, she had to let the cry of battle fade.

"I could have handled that myself," she finally said. It didn't feel fair.

"Yeah, yeah, and get more blood all over your pretty new armor? That's going to take some repairs," her old friend said, giving her a glance. "Now summon up some healing magic and let's go."

Warraven turned her gaze to the human. The tiger had finished playing with his prey and now the man lay in a disfigured heap on the dry soil of Hellfire. She hoped his own people would find the body before the scavengers of this place did. That was the best she could do.


End file.
